


Take A Chance On Me

by AquaWolfGirl



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Basically lets just throw them together and mess everything up, F/M, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mamma Mia AU-ish?, Modern AU, Multi, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, lots of humor
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-12 13:38:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquaWolfGirl/pseuds/AquaWolfGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With her wedding to Poe Dameron approaching quickly, Rey decides that she wants her father to walk her down the aisle. There's just one, teensy little problem - she has no idea who he is. After doing some snooping with the help of Maz, she narrows him down to two options: Han Solo, or Luke Skywalker. She sends invitations claiming her adoptive father Ben wants to see them again, not really expecting either of them to respond.<br/>Just her luck, both do. And Han just has to bring his asshole son along.<br/>Throw in some not-really unrequited love, parental problems, and general f-ups, and Rey's starting to think that all of this probably wasn't the best idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. invitations.

**Author's Note:**

> Someone really needs to take soundtracks away from me. Seriously, someone come confiscate my Mamma Mia! soundtrack. I need help.  
> But I've been wanting to do a modern Reylo au for a long time coming, and after a user on Tumblr asked if I could write a Damerey fic that slowly turned into a Reylo fic, this little thing emerged.  
> *bangs head on keyboard*  
> Okay. I'm done. This is the last long story - 3's enough for me to juggle.  
> I think.

For such flimsy pieces of paper, the letters feel surprisingly like lead weights in her small hands. The envelopes flutter slightly, her fingers shaking as she moves through them. Really, there are only two, but she flips through them like a deck of cards. The handwriting is small and neat - her very best, if she’s being honest. She’d gone through six envelopes before finally finishing these two, the lines of text on the others crossed out in frustration. 

She’s going to do this, nerves be damned. She didn’t write and rewrite these letters 12 times to buck out at the last moment.

Rey stares at the ‘Han Solo’ in neat, cursive letters, and then the ‘Luke Skywalker’ on the other. Their addresses are beneath, but it’s the names that really matter to her. She hesitates for a moment more before opening the door to the mailbox and dropping them before she can lose her nerve, hearing the soft sound of the envelopes containing the invitations and notes hitting the empty bottom of the mailbox with soft sounds.

Immediately it feels as though her stomach has dropped with the letters, and she wonders if any of the screwdrivers in her toolbox could tackle the paint-covered screws holding the mailbox together. Just in case she changes her mind, and wants to get them back. Just in case.

Steeling herself, Rey takes a step back, staring at the empty slot she’d just dropped the letters through. This was it. She’d done it. Tomorrow they’d be taken from the box, and off to their respective places. One to London, and one to somewhere in Arizona. It had taken a long time and, admittedly, a lot of stalking to find Han Solo - the man seemed to move like water, never in the same place twice, always moving and flowing. But she’d found an address that seemed to match, and went for it.

With her pulse fluttering and stomach churning, she turns, running back to her room above the cantina and closing the door as quietly as she possibly can to avoid waking her fiancé.

-  
 **3 months later**

“Rey!”

She knows that voice. She knows that voice better than anything, and God, is it good to hear it again. The brunette looks up and grins, setting the glass she was drying down and practically launching herself over the bar just as her best friend walks through the door, dropping his battered red suitcase immediately. His smile’s sunshine, bright and nearly blinding.

“Finn!” It’s loud enough to attract some attention from the islanders walking about, she knows, but she doesn’t care.

The man laughs, his arms open and waiting for her. She runs into them and lets herself be picked up a few inches above the ground, spun around like a child as she laughs, too. She dangles there for a moment, her arms wrapped around her best friend’s neck before patting his shoulder to be let down. He obliges immediately, but doesn’t stop hugging her, pulling back just enough to grin at her.

“I thought you weren’t getting in until tomorrow!” she insists.

He shrugs. “Thought I’d surprise the bride,” he says, before his grin falls. “Bride, wow, is that weird to say or what?”

“You’re telling me,” she mutters, pulling her left hand down from his shoulder to look at the simple, rough-cut diamond on her finger. Poe really did know her well. She wasn’t one for showing off, never had been. A giant diamond ring just hadn’t been in the cards. She smiles down at the small gold band and lets Finn take her hand, examining the simple ring she’s been staring at herself for the past few months.

“He’s got good taste,” the man mutters. “He really got you, didn't he?”

“He should’ve, with how long he’s known me.” Almost 14 years, she thinks. It’s been over a decade since she was taken to Greece at the tender age of five. Finn’s close behind at 12 years of friendship, quickly and perfectly slipping in with her and Poe like he was the missing gear they didn’t even know was gone, but makes the machine run so much better. Even with distance as he moved away to study art in Florence, they still managed to work together. It just took a little more grease, so to speak.

“Where’s Poe?” he asks, looking around for his other best friend. “Hiding?”

“Sleeping,” she admits.

“At 11 in the morning?” Finn asks, offering her an eyebrow raise and a soft smirk. “Really?”

“Really,” Rey says with a laugh as she bends to pick up his suitcase for him. She shrugs. “If you want to wake him up, be my guest. Just be prepared to be tugged down and snuggled until 1,” she offers, walking back behind the bar to finish the glass cleaning before Maz returned from the market. She sets the suitcase behind the barstool Finn has claimed as his since he could barely climb up onto the tall chair, and reaches for the glass she’d set down before.

The letters are gnawing at the back of her mind, a dull throb that she can’t seem to get rid of. She’d snuck back into bed with Poe last night feeling guilty, that guilt only swelling when he’d pulled her back into his arms without so much of a question as to where she’d gone. She scrubs at a smudge on the glass in her hand perhaps a little too harshly.

Finn watches her, leaning on the bar that’s seen better days. Rey’s lost count of the amount of times she’s sanded and re-stained the thing, only to have it look just as dinged and old a week later. Eventually she just covered it in a coat of resin so that clumsy, drunk customers didn’t get splinters and called it a day. 

“So - what’s new?” he asks.

What she wants to say about the letters comes from her throat and thankfully catch on the back of her teeth. She thinks up something mundane, something easy - _What, you mean aside from getting married?_ is her plan, plain and simple - but what comes out is, “I think I might’ve found my father.” 

It comes out in a rush, barely distinguishable. Damn it, damn her mouth, damn her traitor tongue.

The silence that follows her confession is only filled by the squeak of her cleaning cloth against the glass as she tries to pretend it didn’t happen, that she didn’t just say that.

Finn’s staring at her, brown eyes wide. “… what?”

She takes a deep breath, putting the glass down. “I think I might’ve found my father.” It’s slow this time, and clear. There’s no question about it.  
Finn’s still staring at her, and she notices his mouth has fallen open a bit. He stops, composes himself, and clears his throat. “That’s great, I mean, that’s fantastic!” he tries, but it’s forced, she can tell. “I know you’ve been looking for clues and stuff for years, but - might’ve?” he questions.

She bites her lip. “… there are two possibilities.”

“Two?” he asks, dark eyebrows shooting up along with the pitch of his voice.

“Two,” she confirms. “At least, that’s what Maz found.”

“You roped her into this?” he asks, incredulous. “Rey, what the hell were you thinking?”

She points her finger at him. “I did not rope her into anything. I told her what I was planning on doing and she might’ve … expedited the process. A bit. Just a little bit. I could’ve done it on my own.”

“Right,” he replies, leaning heavily on the counter now - it creaks under the weight of his broad torso. “And you’re telling me this because?”

“… I might’ve invited them to the wedding saying Ben wanted to see them again."

His hands slap down on the counter in disbelief, a loud and heavy smacking sound coming from the wood. “What the _fuck_ , Rey?”

“SSH!” She leaps forward, pressing her hand against his full lips. “Poe doesn’t know!” she hisses.

“Pmph dsnf knmph?!” he demands, lips moving against her palm.

“No, he doesn’t, and I’d like to keep it that way! At least until he wakes up, please don't go running up and telling him right now, let him sleep, please?” She glares at him and pulls her hand away, wiping it on her apron. “I don’t want him thinking this was all just something to find my dad, okay? I really do want to marry him.” The last sentence is soft, just barely above a whisper. And she does, she really does want to marry him. She loves him. It’s just that this is an extra piece, a little push forward to fulfilling her fantasy wedding.

“Well, yeah, duh,” Finn mutters, a bit forlornly. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have said yes.” 

REy sighs, bracing her hands against the counter before looking up at her best friend. “Look, Finn, this is important to me, okay? It’s a stupid custom with a stupid history and a stupid reasoning, but … I’d really like it if he walked me down the aisle instead of Maz,” she admits, leaning forward towards him across the bar. He looks concerned, and her reservations about this whole thing multiply tenfold. She bites her lower lip, fixing him with the stare he’s so familiar with, the I’m-doing-this-whether-you-want-me-to-or-not stare she used so often in their childhood. “I want to know where I come from.”  
“You know where you come from,” he mumbles. “You came here from London when you were five years old. You were adopted by Ben Kenobi, and then you came here to live with Maz. That’s where you come from, that’s your story.”

“No, it’s not,” Rey insists. “I don’t even know if I’m from London. I know I’m not Ben’s. And I know I’m definitely not Maz’s. I want to know who I belong to.”

Finn’s silent, before he sighs. “Is it really that important to you?”

“Yes.”

“… then tell me what I can do.”

-

She doesn’t remember much of Ben. He was older when he adopted her, well into his late 60s. She only got to spend a few months with him before his work became too much, and he sent her to Maz with the pretense that he'd visit a few times a year to see her. He's never pulled through on that promise, but she calls him once a week to update him on what's been going on, and has been calling him for as long as she can remember. She knows his voice almost as well as she knows Maz's. It's smooth, and rich, and calming, and she can understand why the university doesn't want to let him go just yet, even if he's just part time now, helping students figure out their life path.

She remembers blue eyes, the kindest she’s ever seen. She remembers a beard already laced with grey and silver. And she remembers his hands, if she can really focus. She remembers how it felt to hold his hand, for her small one to be engulfed in warmth, his skin soft and worn with age. If she were to say she belonged to anybody, it would be to him. She has his last name as her own, and all of the legal documents state her as his. It’s not a bad thing, but she wishes he was here. That he was more of a father than a disjointed mentor, offering her the best advice he can through a crackling phone.

She wants a family, a normal one, as selfish as that seems. And it's stupid, but she wants to be called 'daughter' instead of 'Rey', just once.

Ben's old letters to Maz have her name twice. And they have Luke's and Han's several dozen times - Luke's 68, and Han's 52 (not like she counted, or anything). That had to mean something. She doesn't see any feminine name aside from hers, even though she's searched through the letters that suffered more than a few tears over the years. No amount of sleuthing or Googling could find a way to un-smudge or un-fade old text that's been kept improperly in a warped cardboard box between two crates of decades-old whisky.

She'd expected a jolt. A sign, something electric as she read the names of her potential fathers. To her complete disappointment, there was nothing. She'd tried their names on her tongue, rolling the syllables over and over before applying her name in front of them. Neither of them had fit quite right. Rey Solo sounded just plain odd, and Skywalker's a strange name anyway.

Rey'd put the letters back in the box, the two names swirling in her head and haunting her until she sat down to write the invitations. She's not entirely sure they've stopped since.

-

Rey can hear Poe above them before he descends the narrow staircase, socked feet heavy on the creaking wood. She’s surprised - it’s noon, and her fiance doesn’t usually get up before 1 with his late night tendency to read until 5am.

Fiance. The term brings a smile to her face as she watches him stumble down, eyes still sleepy and hair a complete and utter mess.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” she coos, setting the pad of paper down and walking over to him. She moves into his space, arms twining around his neck and slipping into his wild, dark hair. He’s in sweatpants a t-shirt, and winces as the Greek sun pours in from the cantina windows and hits his eyes directly. 

Poe grunts indistinguishably, but bends to kiss her. She can taste the toothpaste barely covering the remains of his morning breath, but it’s nice nonetheless. She smiles against his lips. “I have a surprise for you.” Her fingers trail across his shoulders. His skin’s warm, almost hot, beneath the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. Still sleep warm, his stubble not quite trimmed yet as she kisses him once more, chaste and sweet. 

“Hm?” he asks, lips moving to her jaw, a little open and a little sloppy. “A surprise, huh?” His voice is still gruff with sleep.

“Poe Dameron.”

She feels him freeze in her arms, and snorts at Finn’s deep, dark tone - obviously an attempted throwback to when they were little, Finn the villain with Poe as the dashing hero saving the damsel in distress.

Within seconds she’s left with empty air, and she can hear the whooping and clapping behind her. Rey grins and turns to see Poe and Finn hugging tightly, hands slapping each other on the back. She crosses her arms and leans against the bar, watching the interaction with amusement. They don't pull away far from each other, faces mere inches apart as they clasp each other's shoulders.

“I thought you weren’t coming until tomorrow!”

“It was a surprise!”

“You didn’t come in to wake me up?!”

“She told me not to otherwise you’d snuggle me to death!”

“Oh, so you’re complaining about my snuggling now?” Poe asks. The question’s directed at her, and she smirks at him, walking up and wrapping her arms around his waist. She presses her face into the broad plane of his back, smelling his body wash and their detergent and leftover musk from his sleep.

“I wasn’t complaining, I was just warning him,” she defends. “You’d snuggle a grizzly bear in your sleep if one got close enough.”

“Fair,” Poe decides. His hands come down to cover hers, squeezing lightly. “Got breakfast?”

“It’s noon,” she says with no small amount of amusement. “Maz’ll be back soon with stuff for lunch.”

“Awesome. I’m going to shower.” He turns in her arms to press his forehead to hers. “Care to join me?”

She resists the urge to show the shiver that climbs up her spine. His voice is low and deep, and she almost gives into it. Almost. “I have a guest to entertain,” she teases, flicking his temple before reaching up to play with a dark curl that dangles beside it. His jaw's rough, not quite shaven yet, and she rubs her fingertips against the stubble. “Plus you know that shower isn’t big enough for one, let alone two.” It’s true - in the morning she can often hear him banging his elbows on the tiled walls, followed swiftly by an entertaining mix of both Spanish and Greek curses.

“True enough,” he says, giving her one last kiss on the lips. “I’ll see you back down here, all right?”

“Do I ever leave?” She raises an eyebrow in jest.

He kisses her nose. “No, but just checking.” He’s gone back up the stairs, sending a wink her way as he makes sure to wiggle his ass just a bit as he goes.  
She rolls her eyes, smiling happily as she watches him.

She can feel Finn glaring into the back of her head, and sighs.

“What happened to ‘I’ll tell him as soon as he wakes up’?” Finn asks. It’s not accusatory - it’s more sad than anything else.

“I’ll tell him when he comes back down from his shower.”

“You won’t.”

“I won’t.” She continues looking at the stairs. “I’ll… I’ll tell him later, I promise. I just … Eric said there was a letter at the post office, he’s bringing it by at 4. I’ll tell him if it’s the other RSVP.”

There’s silence behind her, and then she’s turned around and pulled into a strong chest. She leans in gratefully, letting out a ragged breath that feels like it’s been a long time coming. Her head tucks perfectly under Finn's chin, and she lets him wrap his arms around her. He’s warm and familiar, as usual, and she sighs as she closes her eyes and lets him support her. 

“… this could end in a brilliant fuck-up, you do know that, right?” 

She laughs, shaking her head. “It could,” she admits, grinning as he pecks her head sweetly. “But it could also result in finding my father.”

“Or, you know, both of them.”

Rey smacks his thigh in retaliation.


	2. RSVP.

“LEIA! MAIL!” 

The hefty pile of catalogues and bills makes a ‘smack’ as it lands on the kitchen table. Han shrugs out of his leather jacket, draping it lazily over the back of one of the chairs before standing over the mail. He grabs the Victoria’s Secret catalogue and makes a face, dropping it right into the recycling along with the rest of the catalogues that for some reason still came to them no matter how many times they changed addresses. After those were tossed, that leaves the bills. He puts the important ones far to the side for Leia to deal with later. He’d tried paying them once, and that had ended in a disaster and a half, so he just left the bill-paying duties to his more organized wife. 

Usually, once he sorted through the trash, catalogues and bills, there’s nothing left. But he frowns at the hefty brown envelope still on the table, one hand on his hip as he picks it up. There are a significant amount of postage stamps covering the front, and he runs his thumb over the ragged edge of one of the stamps. “Greece?” he mutters, trying to remember who the hell he knew in Greece. There’s no return address, the space occupied by a customs sticker. But there’s no doubt it’s addressed to him. ‘Han Solo’ is written in neat black letters, obviously by a nice pen. He frowns and grabs a paring knife from the knife block, slipping it between the flap of the envelope and the body of it. The cut he makes isn’t the neatest but at least he didn’t ruin the envelope too badly.  
He tugs the pile of papers out, one lighter than the other two. He can feel the weight of one of the papers - fancy and textured. The other’s just a plain sheet of loose leaf, the edges torn from a notebook. 

He looks at the fancy one first, turning it over. It’s a simple thing, pretty. Watercolor paper cut into a neat rectangle and colored a deep blue that slowly became white. The writing on the paper’s the same as the envelope, neat and tiny. 

His bushy eyebrows raise as he realizes exactly what he’s looking at.

A wedding invitation. 

He scans it quickly, noting the name above the rest of the information.

“Rey Kenobi,” he mutters, frowning at the small piece of paper. “Well, damn. She’s old enough to be married now?"

“Who’s old enough to be married?” 

He looks up to see his wife leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and eyebrows raised. Leia was always a tiny thing, but she looks even smaller compared to the the large archway leading to the living room. She’s still dressed in her dean of students’s garb, a sharp deep blue pantsuit, but her hair’s down from its normally starch updo, just barely brushing her shoulders. He waves the invitation at her, leaning across the table towards her. She walks forward and takes it from him, scanning the handwritten text with a raised eyebrow. 

“Rey Kenobi. That girl Ben took in,” he explains. “She’s getting married.” 

“Ben Kenobi,” Leia mutters. “I thought you hadn’t talked to him in years.” The look she gives him is suspicious and he holds his hands up in the universal sign of ‘please don’t hurt me’. 

“I haven’t,” he explains. “Haven’t spoken to him since the last time he, Luke and I got together. And you remember how much of a disaster that was.”

She hums softly, looking down at the invitation and running her small thumb over the text. “And this girl knows about you?” she asks, sounding surprised. 

“Apparently.” He takes the piece of loose leaf and unfolds it. The writing here’s a bit messier, less carefully thought out than the other examples. His eyebrows practically shoot into his grey hair as he reads it. “… he wants to see me.” 

“Who? Ben?” Leia asks, coming around to stand beside him. She doesn’t even reach his shoulder, which gives her the perfect advantage to reading the letter he holds in his hands. He holds it out to her once he’s finished scanning it.

“Yeah. Wants to talk to me about something, apparently. She doesn’t say what it is, only that he asked her to send an invitation.” He huffs, taking the paper back from her and folding it back along the crease lines. His wife looks at him expectantly, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Are you going to go?” 

“Hell, no.” The letter and invitation are tucked back into the envelope. “Our Ben’s coming home by that time, remember?” 

Leia follows him as he walks into the living room and falls onto the couch with little grace, putting his leather boots up on the coffee table. A hard swack of her hand has them down on the floor again. He glares at her, but she knows there’s no malice behind it. “You could take him with you,” she offers. “You’ve seen his Facebook pictures. The boy needs some sun.”

“Take Ben to Greece to go to a wedding of a girl neither he nor I have met?” he questions, grabbing the remote and turning the TV on to some random channel. Anything to distract him from the hell that was a conversation with his stubborn wife. “Again - hell no.” 

Leia crosses to the TV and turns it off by the button on side, standing in front of the screen and crossing her arms over her chest. The look she gives him is positively murderous. He’s pretty sure it’ll become her default expression one of these days. “I’ll come with you,” she offers. 

“Leia, the kid’s coming home for the first time in what, 9 years? I’m not about to go dragging him to some wedding in another continent,” he mumbles, turning the TV back on out of spite. 

It’s turned right back off again, this time with a bit more force. She turns back to him and puts her hands on her tiny hips, and he resists the urge to sigh. Here she goes. 

“Han. Ben Kenobi wants to see you, and this girl has invited you to her wedding just because of it. You’re going to Greece.” 

Han stares at her. “No, I’m not. Remember the last time I met with that bastard? 9 stitches. 9, Leia!” 

“And that had nothing to do with him and all to do with your goddamn stubbornness,” she insists. “Hand me the iPad.” 

He puts his hand on the slim device. “No.” 

She raises an eyebrow. “Fine. Then if you’re not going to buy the tickets, you’re going to call Ben.” 

He grabs the device and unlocks it at lightning speed. It takes a bit of maneuvering (he’s always been good with screws and gears, not so much sleek screens) but eventually he navigates to an airline webpage. He turns the device around and holds it up to show her the screen, just out of spite. “Happy, princess?” he snaps, pulling his wallet out from his back pocket.

The smirk on her face is positively wicked, and he wonders not for the first time why he married her in the first place. 

-

Across the Pacific, Luke Skywalker handles the situation a bit more calmly than his estranged best friend. 

The mail comes exactly at 3. He’d returned from the university a few hours before, most of his appointments in the morning. His tea is brewing, meditation finished for the day and mind settled. He brings the mail in and swiftly sorts it into three piles. Unlike Han, he has more letters, and spends his time opening and reading them thoroughly before putting them aside. 

The invitation’s last, and he frowns as he picks it up. “Greece?” He opens it, pulling out the invitation and letter. He carries them into his study, sitting down at his desk and examining the contents of the envelope. 

Rey Kenobi. Now that’s a name he hasn’t heard in years. He smiles softly as he reads through the invitation. Has it really been that long? It’s been over two decades since he saw any mention of the name ‘Kenobi’. She must be 19 now, at least, if not in her early 20s. He runs his thumb over the black handwriting, noting the small, even letters. If he looks closely, he can see the pencil marks indicating lines on the watercolor paper of the invitation, meticulously erased but not entirely. He smirks, reaching for the letter. 

He reads it thoroughly, hand at his mouth and teeth worrying at the nail of his thumb of his remaining hand. It’s in the same handwriting as the invitation, so it can only have been written by the bride. The signature at the bottom of the letter confirms it, her signature a lot more chicken-scratch-like than the writing in the letter.

Ben Kenobi wants to see him, apparently. At his adoptive daughter’s wedding. In Greece. After 20 years. 

He continues chewing on the nail of his thumb, a nervous habit picked up years ago. Well. It would put a small dent in his retirement fund, but if Ben Kenobi wants to see him, who was he to deny the old man? 

He rummages through his drawers, searching for a pen to write the RSVP with.

\- 

He really should change his ringtone. 

Kylo Ren groans softly as the sound of electric guitar blares through his dreams, worming its way into his head and waking him up harshly. His hand slaps at the dark wood of his bedside table before he realizes that his phone is in fact next to his pillow, and he barely has time to answer the call by the time he actually grabs hold of the thing. 

"Ren." His voice is groggy from sleep, deep and rumbling. He rolls onto his back, holding the phone to his ears as his other hand moves through his hair. 

"Ben." 

He winces, resisting the urge to groan. "Mama, do you have any idea what time it is?" he practically growls, rolling over to look at the clock on his bedside table. He blinks at the 11:34 displayed in bright red lines, and he can feel the warmth of the sun from his window on his bare back. Well, then.

"It's 11:34," she tells him, and he resists the urge to snap at her. He had asked her, after all - how was she to know he'd answered his own question? "We have a slight change of plans." 

"Slight as in what, you changed the flight time? Is it later or earlier than before?" he asks, rolling back over onto his back and continuing to run his fingers through his hair. He grimaces. He must've had a stress dream sometime in the night. His hair is greasy, not at the usual level of softness he so proudly holds himself to. He'll have to take a shower, he thinks, not really paying attention to what his mother's saying. He examines his nails, frowning at one of the hangnails he sees, and runs his thumb over it as she continues to talk. He tunes in, suddenly, rolling his eyes as she continues to go on. 

"-then we'll take the flight to Greece, and-" 

He startles, sitting up so quickly his head reels. He feels sick, and bites his lip to fight the waves of nausea and dizziness that come from sitting up too soon too fast. "Greece?" he demands, hunched over.

"You weren't listening." 

He ignores the stern, disapproving tone of his mother's voice in favor of scooting to the edge of the bed and sitting with his head in his free hand to combat the sick feeling. "Greece?!" 

He hears her sigh on the other end of the phone. "Your father has a wedding to go to, and I'm coming along. You're coming with us." 

"Like Hell I am!" he snaps, fist clenching his phone hard enough to hear it crack dangerously. He lightens his grip just the slightest bit. He can't afford the trouble of getting a new phone, not when his last one was broken the same way not three months ago.

"Language," she scolds, and his cheeks flush at the scolding. Even states away she manages to make him feel awful about cursing, even though he's been doing it for as long as he can remember. 

He growls, running his hand through his hair harshly. "No, I'm not going to Greece with you," he states finally, hoping it would be the end of it.

"The ticket's already been bought." 

Damn it.

"Then refund it and I'll pay you for what they don't refund you. I'm not going to Greece to go to some wedding of someone I don't know."

"Then you don't have to go to the wedding. You can spend time on the island away from us and the festivities, and you can just think of it as a long-deserved vacation. It will be sunny, and there might be some bridesmaids to flirt with. Or groomsmen," she adds, and he's never wanted to bang his head against a wall harder than he does right now. He does allow himself to scoot back against the headboard, and his head falls back against the wood a little harder than strictly necessary. "How does that sound?" 

"Awful. I'm not going." 

"Ben Solo. Your father just bought you a ticket to Greece, and you're turning it down?" He can just imagine her, standing with her hands on her hips. For someone who's barely five feet, she sure was an intimidating woman. He guesses that's why kids rarely got in trouble at the college at which she worked. An angry Leia Organa is a downright terrifying Leia Organa - and he hates to say that he experienced it a lot, first hand. 

"That's not my name, and yes I am." 

"I'm not calling you 'Kylo Ren'." He almost winces at her tone, instead rolling his eyes. "It's ridiculous, and when I'm mad at my son I will call him by his full name. You are coming with us to Greece if I have to storm myself up to your office and drag you from it. Is that clear, Ben Solo?" 

He hesitates for a moment, before running a hand down his long face and sighing softly.

"Yes, Mama." 

"Good." 

He winces at the loud sound of her hanging up on him, and pulls the phone away when he hears the dial tone. He sighs softly, setting the phone back down on the pillow before picking up his book and chucking it against the wall as hard as he possibly can. The hardcover leaves a dent, but he feels the urge to destroy calm slightly. He throws the next one, and is satisfied when the ink from the cover leaves a dark mark on the white wall. There are no more books on his bedside table, and he resists the urge to throw his phone. 

Now that would be something to explain to the Apple store. 

Again.


	3. Chapter 3

Rey scrambles out of the little rowboat she'd taken to the mainland, her foot catching on the lip of the boat as she swings her left leg over the side. She rights the boat quickly, making sure it's secured one last time before rushing across the rickety old pier towards the stairs up to the main road. She takes the crude wooden stairs two at a time, not even needing to look down with how many times she’s taken them over the years. Her sandals smack against the gravel as she runs up the hill, eyes on the cantina. She can see his dark figure on top of the cantina as she gets closer, the sun beating down and making him almost a silhouette. 

“Finn!” She calls up to him as she gets closer. He doesn’t hear her, shoving more wet leaves and grime from the gutters into a garbage bag. 

“FINN!” 

She regrets yelling at him almost immediately as he startles and stumbles towards the edge of the roof. She holds her breath, her heart stopping for a horrifying second. But he rights himself after a moment, steadying himself by bracing his hands and feet against the worn shingles. She’s more afraid of him falling through than falling off, honestly, with how old the cantina is. 

“Rey!” He’s grinning. She can see it even from two-and-a-half stories below, and she grins back as she moves her hand to shield her eyes in order to gaze up at him properly. “What’s up?” 

She bounces on the balls of her feet, holding the two envelopes up to him to show him. “They’re coming!” 

“What?” he calls back, frowning as he leans forward to squint at her. He makes a vague gesture. “Can’t see - I’ll be right down, okay?” He finishes shoving the rest of the gutter gunk into the bags as she waits impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest in a useless attempt to calm the butterflies threatening to explode out of her ribcage. She watches him as he tosses the bags down the side of the building, and keeps her eyes on him for as long as she can. Eventually he disappears down the other side of the roof, presumably to climb down. She bounces as she waits for him to emerge. 

He comes around the building a moment later, pulling his gloves off and tucking them in the back pocket of his jeans. He’s wearing a white tank top that’s definitely seen better days, and jeans practically covered in white paint from the work he’d been doing on the building. Maz had expressed an interest years ago in getting the old cantina repainted, and it seemed it was finally happening. 

His grin is broad as he approaches her, wiping his sweaty hands on his thighs. “All right, what were you holding up at me?” 

She takes the envelopes and waves them in front of his face. “They’re coming!” 

Finn blinks, taking them from her as she practically vibrates beside them. “No way. Both of them?” He flips through, glancing at the handwriting and the confirmation of their attendance. 

She nods enthusiastically, beaming at him and grinning so hard her cheeks are starting to hurt. “Both of them!” 

He pulls the cards out of the envelopes, scanning them quickly. “So Han’s bringing someone?” 

“His wife, Leia,” she explains. “Luke’s not bringing anyone, that I know of. At least, he didn’t say he was.” She frowns. “Do you think he’s married?” 

“No idea,” he admits as he slips the RSVPs back into the envelopes and hands them back to her. He stares at her, smiling softly. “… you’re really happy about this, aren’t you?” 

She takes the envelopes back, holding them to her chest. “That obvious?” 

He reaches out to tap at the space between her eyebrows. “When you’re really happy, you smile wide enough that your nose crinkles,” he explains. “It’s really crinkly now. Like I can’t even see your freckles properly crinkly.” 

“Stop it,” she scolds, brushing his hand away from her face. “I don’t have that many freckles.” 

“Yes, you do.” 

She turns, grinning as she sees her fiance coming around the corner. Much like Finn, he’s covered in paint and gunk. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that looks like it's a shirt of the night sky with how many white paint speckles are on it. His arms and face are similarly covered in white dots, and his orange cargo pants are streaked as well. 

“Don’t hug me, wet paint,” he warns, but she reaches out to pry a fleck of paint from his forehead anyway. It comes off on her nail and she blows it away. Poe grins down at her, leaning forward to kiss her cheek. 

“I don’t think paint flecks have quite the same wishing properties as eyelashes,” he mutters against her skin. She leans into him as much as she can, still holding the envelopes to her chest. “More people?” he asks, of the envelopes. 

She looks down at the papers. “Yeah, two friends of Ben’s he asked me to invite,” she clarifies. “One’s coming alone, the other’s bringing his wife.” The lie sits heavy in her chest, right above her breasts. It makes her feel sick and heavy and awful, but it comes out anyway. She’s not exactly lying, not entirely, but it’s still a horrible feeling. She gives him a smile as he hums noncommittally and kisses her chastely.

“Finn, left side staircase’s almost ready for another coat,” he says. He grins down at Rey. “I’ll see you later, all right?” 

“All right,” she says, pecking his cheek and grimacing as she tastes the paint on his skin. “Ugh, wash your face before I kiss you again, okay?” 

Poe gives a little mock salute before walking over to Finn. “You put the supplies in the shed, right?” 

“Right. Key’s under the pot, the lock gets stuck so just jiggle it!” Finn calls as Poe starts walking towards the shed. The man throws back a thumbs up, confirming that he’d gotten the information as he continues walking. 

Rey watches as he turns the corner, and gives a soft sigh of relief. She can feel Finn’s disapproving look even as she looks down at the RSVPs. Luke’s handwriting is light and neat, whereas Han’s looks is more chicken-scratch-like. She can tell when Leia stepped in, since her writing is looping and official-looking. He’d spelled “attendance” wrong, the crossed out word and Leia’s spelling over it. She smiles softly, finding it a bit endearing. Perhaps that was another clue. She’d never been good at spelling herself. 

“It’s been two weeks, Rey,” Finn mutters. “The wedding’s in less than a month, and Poe still has no idea. Are you planning on telling him? At all?”

She hesitates, eyes still on the RSVPs. 

“… Rey?”

“I don’t know,” she finally admits. She looks up at him helplessly. “I don’t know, Finn. Should I?” 

“Yes!”

“But SHOULD I?” she demands. “How do you think he’ll respond?” 

“Supportively!” he insists. “Because he’s your fiance, and this is something you want, and it’s obviously something you’ve spent a lot of time thinking and planning, and he won’t shoot you down for that, okay? I promise.” 

The envelopes feel a lot heavier than originally, and she runs her thumb over the ink of Han’s handwriting. “I’ll tell him, soon, I promise.” 

“If he finds out while you’re walking down the aisle…” Finn warns, and she laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’ll find out before then, I promise. Now go help him carry paint cans or something.” She pushes on his bicep, steering him towards the shed. “I have things to do.” 

“Like what?!” 

“Like … figure out which one is my dad using their handwriting!”

“That’s not how handwriting works!”

-

He hates airports. He hates them with a fiery, burning passion. 

No, actually, he doesn’t hate airports. He hates people. He’d be fine with airports if there weren’t so many people inside of them. But instead he’s stuck sitting next to some sticky-fingered 8 year old who has no concept of personal space as she climbs all over his armrest. He glares at her, but she just continues poking at his side of the bench. He scoots as far over as he can without falling off of the worn black leather seat. 

He’s saved by his phone as it starts ringing - a blaring alarm, a warning bell. He resists the urge to curse in front of a child as he reaches into his bag, pulling his phone out and swiping it. “Hello.”

“Ren.” 

“Hux.” 

“You’re late to our meeting.” 

Kylo can hear the subtle rage in the redhead’s voice. “I’m not coming to your meeting. I told you this on Tuesday.” 

“No, you didn’t.” 

“Then I must’ve told Phasma. Blame her for not telling you.” 

“Ren, get your ass over here now.” It’s a threat, he can tell, but he’s not going to take the bait. Not this time. 

“I would be happy to, if I wasn’t in another country.” So it’s a bit of a lie. He hasn’t gotten on the plane to Greece yet, instead waiting at the gate so that he can fly with his parents. 

There’s a moment of silence, and then Hux snarls, “What?” 

“I’m. In. Another. Country. Get your ears checked you-“ He glances towards the little girl awkwardly. “… man.”

“Ren. Where are you?” 

“Greece.” 

“Greece?” 

He stands, slinging his laptop bag over his shoulder and pulling his carryon along away from the child so that he can actually curse. “Yeah, jackass, I’m in Greece," he mutters, looking around to see if anyone had heard. Luckily, he was now surrounded by harried adults with other things on their mind, and his curse goes unnoticed.

“Why in the bloody hell are you in Greece of all places?” 

“Mom and Dad need to go to a wedding, and wouldn’t take ‘no’ for an answer,” he explains, making a beeline for the coffee shop across the terminal. 

“I fail to see how their going to a wedding in Greece affects you at all. If you aren’t back here by Monday-“

He steps in line for a coffee. Preferably a strong one. He glances towards the bar across the way, legitimately wondering if he could pay for a shot of whiskey to pour into his caffeinated drink. “If I’m not back there by Monday, you’re not going to do shit, and you know it. Listen, you wanted a rough proposal done by the 28th, right? I can it done, completely, by the 5th.” 

There’s silence on the other line, and he can hear the redhead’s shaky breath as he physically tries not to break a blood vessel. “… fine.”

Kylo smirks. “Bye, Hux.” 

“Choke on an olive, Ren.” 

The line drops a moment later, and Kylo rolls his eyes as he puts the phone back into his pocket. He waits in line patiently, settling for a white chocolate mocha with a few extra shots of espresso to help get him through this trip. He takes the drink gratefully from the barista and takes a sip, sighing softly as the sugar hits his tongue. He has to disguise the drink at work, snagging another cup and jotting down the letters for a black coffee on the side before slipping his cup into it. Hux would never let him hear the end of it if he found out Kylo Ren has a sweet tooth. 

“Ben!” 

He sips too much too fast, and burns his tongue on the drink. He sputters, coughing borderline violently as he tries to rid his throat of the scalding liquid. He coughs again when there’s a harsh slap to his back, a broad hand covering the space between his shoulder blades. 

“You've been working out,” Han mutters as his hand grips his son's shoulder. “Good job.” 

Kylo finishes coughing and turns to glare at his father before he’s pulled into a hug by his mother. He’s unsure what to do. Hugging back would seem like the natural thing, if he didn’t hate hugs and didn’t have a hot coffee in his hand. He just lets it happen, staying in her arms until she lets go of him. 

It’s a bit comical, the height difference between them. He towers over her at 6’3, herself more than a foot shorter than him. Han’s closer to his height, and stands beside him as Leia looks up at him in a mixture of awe and shock. 

“You’re here,” she says. “Your father was convinced you were going to bail on us.” 

“I wasn’t convinced,” Han retorts. “I was fairly certain. That’s a good bit of difference.” He puts his hands on his hips for good measure, looking down at his wife, annoyed. 

Kylo’s immediately reminded of where his eyeroll came from as Leia rolls her eyes at her husband. Her hands find Kylo’s free one, squeezing his pale hand lovingly. He looks down at her small hands, both of them still not enough to wrap around his one. 

“Did you get through security all right? They didn’t pull you out for anything, did they? No knives, no swabbing for things, no alarms?” she asks. 

He scoffs, pulling his hand from her grip and shaking his head. “No, Mama. It went well.” 

“See - he’s smart,” Leia says, looking towards Han. She jerks her thumb towards her husband. “This one had two Swiss Army knives.” 

“The small ones,” Han defends. “They’ve gone through plenty of times before. It was only a matter of time before they took them, really.” 

Kylo resists the urge to snort as Leia gives her husband a look, the same look one might give to a disagreeable child. “Honestly,” the woman mutters before turning back to her son and looking up at him expectantly. “Where’s your ticket?” 

“I can hold onto my own ticket,” Kylo insists, but she finds it in the side pocket of his laptop bag anyway. 

“You’re in our row,” she explains, comparing her ticket to his. “You board first. We’ll figure out where we’re sitting when we get on.”

“Great.” Not great, in his opinion. But if he has to choose between sitting next to his parents and sitting next to the sticky-fingered 8 year old, he’d choose his parents in a heartbeat. 

Leia tugs both of the men towards the gate. Kylo can’t help but observe the power she holds over his father, the larger man trotting along behind her like an obedient puppy. He smirks, walking just to the side of them. The smirk falls when he sees the black cover of a book, tucked into the sheer mesh pocket of her backpack. 

It’s his book. Or, at least, one of his. This one looks like it’s seen better days, the pages wrinkled and stained from what he assumes was a green tea incident and the edges of the cover turning white, the ink rubbing away from so much contact with her fingers. But it’s undoubtedly his, with ‘Kylo Ren’ in big, silver letters on the front. He bites his bottom lip, tearing his eyes away and instead focusing on finding a seat in the waiting area. Preferably a single one. Away from his parents. 

No luck, he thinks forlornly, as Han settles next to him and Leia walks off to go buy a magazine. His father scoots down in the chair, getting comfortable as Kylo sits there stiffly.

“Look, kid.” 

He turns towards his father, frowning when he sees that the man's not even looking at him. Han’s looking out at the sea of people in front of them instead, arms crossed over his chest as he leans back in the uncomfortable leather seat. 

“I know it’s been a while, and we’re not on the best of terms, but give it a shot, all right? You don’t have to be attached at our hip the entire time, and we’re not asking you to go to the wedding, but one at the beach might be nice. You look like you could use some sun.” 

Kylo scoffs, looking out to where the plane is parked. People haven’t emerged yet, but they would soon. He’s dreading it, the hours-long plane ride settled next to this man. 

“Hey. Just do it, okay? It would make your mom happy. One day. Just one, and then you can go back to writing your romance novels or whatever it is you do these days.” 

“Romance novels?” Kylo asks, now looking towards Han with a bit of an annoyed expression. Did his father seriously think he was making a living selling romance novels? That was … a bit insulting, if he’s honest with himself.

The older man shrugs, the leather of his jacket creaking slightly. “I don’t know. Your mother reads them. Figured there’s gotta be some romantic aspect in there somewhere if she enjoys it.”

He’s not wrong. Kylo does write romance, just a bit of it, but only because it helps sell. People love love, for some godforsaken reason. For the live of him, he can’t fathom why, but Hux pressures him into it and the money in his bank account isn’t something he’s going to reject. 

Leia returns just as people are deplaning, dropping a bag of Twizzlers into Kylo’s lap. He stares at them blankly as she fusses with her bag, slipping things in and taking things out and rearranging them so that she can access them more easily on the flight. 

He hesitates, but takes the bag. The packaging comes with memories of sipping cherry Coke through one of them like a straw, weeks of exam studying with one of them hanging out of his mouth at all times. He stares at them for a moment before tucking them into the side pocket of his bag, where his phone and wallet and passport are for easy access. 

“Flight 2187, come aboard.”


End file.
